


Impetus

by Slaskia



Series: Astral Aligned Continuity [34]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Dead People, Delusions, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gen, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Paranormal, Past Character Death, Returning Home, Tags Contain Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-14
Updated: 2019-09-14
Packaged: 2020-10-18 13:55:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20640278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slaskia/pseuds/Slaskia
Summary: Flashwing returns home, not surprised by the death and destruction there, but very much so by something else....





	Impetus

Returning here hadn’t been part of his plans. 

Flashwing flew through the canyons with ease, the many twists, narrow walls and other obstacles no issue for him. So many other bots could get lost, or worse, crash and burn trying to navigate this place. Not him. He had flown these canyons many times ever since he learned to transform. 

These canyons…these looming, oppressive walls, were once his home. 

One he never wanted to return to, for there was nothing for him there. Not anymore. 

During his long period in prison, he had heard rumors, snippets of news, of what happened there. How his people, the Sirens, were hunted, camps and outposts reduced one by one. Until the last one, their last stronghold was finally discovered and wiped out shortly before the Civil War started. Flashwing was only spared because no one knew of his associations with them. If they had…he likely would have been murdered in his prison cell. 

There, a familiar outcropping, hidden in its shadow was a glyph. It was mostly worn away, due to the passage of time, but still visible enough to his seeker senses. Flashwing made the tight turn into the appropriate side passage, which eventually forced to return to bipedal mode to walk the rest of the way. It got quite narrow here at point, resulting in him needing to fold his wings back so they wouldn’t scrap against the walls. 

He was only returning here, because it was the best place to hide. 

An offer he had made to a certain Warlord. One that would have secured him his Chosen and ended this senseless war in one fell swoop. But no. That Warlord didn’t want to take the _easy_ way. He wanted to ensure his enemies…their entire _species_…suffered for as long as possible. Power mad, bloodthirsty, psychotic _fool_! What’s the point of ruling if there was nothing left to _rule_!? 

Worse, that despot decided to _tattle_ on him. Had his spymaster slip a copy of their conversation to his superiors. Cutting short his ‘career’ in Special Operations and forcing him to flee before they could apprehend him: if he hadn’t, he would have spent another few hundred vorn in prison for treason, if not executed outright. The first he had already experienced and didn’t wish to do so again…the other…was on his ‘never do’ list. 

With the war ever ranging, there were few safe places to go. There was the underworld, but that realm had its own dangers he was woefully unfamiliar with. Too risky and too confining for his seeker tastes besides that. The old Siren camp was both familiar and likely still had some structure in place to make shelter with. Plus….it was would be the last place anyone would expect him to go. This meant it he would have plenty of time to plan his next move. 

At last, the narrow path he was traversing started widening, allowing him to spread his wings to a more comfortable position. He could see a larger cavern up ahead and along the walls beside him, he could see signs of the fierce battle that had been fought here. Looked like the main entrance had been blown open with explosives. Not surprising, considering it was their longtime foe, the Wreckers, that had attacked this place. 

Flashwing paused just past the threshold, allowing this optics to take in the scene before moving in deeper. On reflex he checked his subspace, ensuring his two daggers were still there, ready to be pulled out a moment’s notice. There was a small chance this place was discovered and claimed by vagrants, or the few neutrals that remained whom were trying to stay out of the war. In other words: bots that may be willing to fight to keep what little resources they had. 

The first thing he noticed were the bodies. They were everywhere in various states of decay, the hardier frame types holding up longer than the others. All Siren. The Wreckers no doubt took any casualties of their own with them after the battle was over. 

_Battle? Puh…this was a slaughter…. _When it came to killing…the Wreckers rarely hesitated. Fragging savages. They must _love_ the current war. It was a question on why they didn’t join the _Decepticons_ instead. 

Most of the structures looked intact, if a bit…holey. The holes, at least, were clearly made by weapon fire and explosives, not scraplets. A good thing: dealing with scraplets was not on his ‘to do’ list either. Feeling more confident, Flashwing started exploring the camp further, to see what other resources were available here. 

That meant going into the tunnels, where most of the actual camp resided. Fortunately, he had brought a small lamp to use as a light source, so he wasn’t completely blind in the now pitch black tunnels. As he traveled, he noticed there were a surprising lack of bodies. 

Then he looked into one of the side rooms and recoiled. 

The floor was covered with corpses, their positions suggesting they were put there after the fact. Why would the Wrecker’s bother moving the bodies in the tunnels when they left the ones outside where they lay? He got his answer when he reached the main storage rooms. 

It had been completely looted. Anything of use was gone and what little remained was too damaged or decayed. Considering the state of the planet at the time, it was likely the Wrecker’s did so to repurpose the precious resources the tribe had. Just as likely, it was done as a final insult to his kin. 

Perhaps coming back here won’t be as beneficial as he hoped. He knew, however, it would be best to check the other areas first before writing it completely off. Already, his processor was thinking up other possible locations to go if this place ended up being a complete dud. 

As he left the storage room he thought he heard a sound. A voice. Flashwing froze, stilling his intakes for a few nanos as he focused, listening for any sound. Feeling for any change in air current with his wings. 

Nothing. 

He shook his head and continued on, heading for the forge. To his disappointment, but not surprised, the Wreckers had looted this area as well. All of old Overseer Scrapback’s tools were gone, along with any equipment and supplies that were small enough for them to carry. The forge itself was still there, but its fire had long died out and he had no fuel to reignite it. Not that he knew how to properly use it: at best, it would have been a heat source on colder nights. 

Can’t be helped. He left the forge to check the barracks. Surely there was something he could use there. 

_“Worthless.”_

Flashwing stopped in his tracks, the energon in his lines chilling. That sounded like…no…couldn’t be. He was surely dead with the rest of his kin. The echoes of his own footfalls must be playing tricks with his audios. Surely. Shaking his head, he continued on. 

Yet he kept thinking he heard various voices along the way. All saying words of discouragement and degradation. Memories…memories of his time growing up here, that’s what it was. Echoes of a time past playing in his processor. A painful time when no one thought he could do anything right. All because of something he had no control over and couldn’t change. 

Why…why didn’t they understand that? Why was he made the scapebot of all their problems!? His optics briefly clouded from the memories of the pain and humiliation, before he was able to shove them back into the depths of his spark where they belonged. 

He still felt a bit unnerved when he arrived at the barracks and adjoining habsuits, but his mood started to brighten at what he found there. The Wreckers were apparently not as interested in a bunch of berths and some of the personal storage chests, though the latter had been rifled though. Lids thrown open and items deemed useless thrown about randomly. Even most of the blankets were still present, though they were in various states of disrepair. With luck, he should able to patchwork the better pieces into something useful. 

The sound of heavy footfalls echoing through the tunnels made him freeze once more. 

Flashwing hissed softly, setting his lamp down and activating his cloaking device. As he turned toward the entrance of the room, he reached one hand into his subspace and drew a dagger. Whatever it was, it was getting closer. While he doubted it, there was a chance he was followed here: his color scheme wasn’t exactly _subtle._

The nanos ticked by as the sound grew louder, Flashwing swearing he could feel the ground tremble slightly. He tensed as it sounded like the creator was about reach the room….

…then it abruptly stopped. 

Flashwing didn’t move, didn’t decloak: he was no fool! Whomever, or whatever, it was could be waiting for him to make his presence known. He kept his intakes soft and even, playing the waiting game. 

A wait that lasted for nearly a klik before the sound resumed. This time on the other side of the entrance, continuing down the hallway. Flashwing blinked in confusion. He hadn’t seen or heard anyone, or thing move pass the threshold! Then again, it was very dark in here: his light only penetrated so far into the gloom. It was possible the darkness of the hallway was sufficient for someone to sneak past without him noticing. 

But why resume being just as noisy after passing the room? Something wasn’t right here…. 

Flashwing decloaked and picked up the lamp, before moving into the hallway. With his dagger still out, he looked down in the direction the noise was now coming from. He could see nothing, but by then the source of the sound was too far away for the light to illuminate. Against his better judgment, he opted to follow the sound. 

He needed to know if what he was experiencing was caused by something explainable in reality. Or…delusions stemming from his abused past. He’d rather face a physical, _tangible_, opponent. 

The sound of footfalls continued up ahead. Still slow and heavy. Sounded…almost like the maker was limping. Good, if they were injured or otherwise physically compromised, it will be easier to deal with them if a fight broke out. Flashwing kept a considerable distance anyway, able to use the echoes of the footfalls to gauge where it was going. It wasn’t long before he figured out where this unseen being was going. 

The camp audience chamber. 

When he got there, he lingered just outside the entrance, noting that one of the massive doors missing, while the other hung broken. The sound had stopped somewhere inside and there was only one way in or out of this room. This meant, whomever or whatever it was, was still inside. 

Flashwing peered into the room, sweeping his lamp in front of him, hoping to catch a glimpse of his query. He was all too aware his actions would draw attention to himself, if it hadn’t already. Going in…he really didn’t want to do. This room had too many bad memories. Memories of being berated, humiliated and beaten. 

“Don’t stand there like coward,” a voice growled from the gloom. 

He jumped back with an undignified squawk, nearly dropping both his dagger and lamp. It couldn’t be! Yet that voice was unmistakable. It could belong to no one else! 

“St-Steelstone?” Flashwing called out, hesitantly walking in, his wings down in submission. A disapproving growl was heard in response, and he quickly corrected his mistake. “_Chief_ Steelstone…I-I thought you offline….” 

As he approached, his lamp gradually illuminated more details in the room. This included the massive chair the Chief sat in during meetings. A seat the broad form of Steelstone was currently filling. 

Steelstone was not in good shape. His whole left arm was missing and his right leg was severely damaged, explaining the limp he heard. There was also a poorly healed puncture mark right below where his fuel pump would be: a near fatal wound the miner miraculously survived. From the countless gash and slash marks, he had squared off against a sword welder. Most likely the White Demon, Wheeljack. If he had to guess, Wheeljack thought he had slayed him and moved on to another opponent, however, miner frame types were extremely durable and resilient. Warlord Megatron was proof of that…and now so was Steelstone. 

“Why are you back here?” Steelstone was sneering. “Disobeying once more?” 

Flashwing knew what he was talking about. He wasn’t supposed to return at all until he had secured his Chosen. “Forgive me, Chief..,” he began, going to one knee, lowering his gaze as he set the lamp onto the floor. “I had heard tribe was wiped out…and I needed place to hide due to circumstances behind my control. I had no idea someone survived….” 

“I hear nothing but excuses.” There was a bang of a fist on the armrest, making Flashwing flinch. “I suppose you failed to find Chosen as well?” 

“I did find him…,” Flashwing corrected, daring to look up at him. “Found him long ago…but others interfered…he is currently out of reach.” 

“So you failed….” Steelstone was sighing with exasperation. “Jus’ like I knew you would.” 

“No! Not yet!” Flashwing insisted. “I can still win my Chosen over…I jus’ need….” 

“You need _nothing_.” Steelstone’s voice boomed, Flashwing thinking he felt the very floor tremble. “I gave you chance to prove yourself…and you brought nothing but _shame_ and _failure_. Jus’ as I knew you would.” 

Flashwing clenched his fists in mental anguish as he looked toward the floor. He became aware of the dagger in his hand, having forgotten it was even there until now. Rubbing his thumb against the hilt, he felt an odd sort of strength come back to him. 

“Perhaps…,” he began through clenched denta. “I would not be such _failure_ if you hadn’t treated me as you have. I know _Stormburst_ wouldn’t have!” 

“But he is not here,” Steelstone retorted coldly. “Your creation caused his demise…and many other misfortunes.” 

A flash of rage shot through him. Not this again! “You have blamed me for every ill and misfortune ever since he went to Allspark,” he spat as he sprang to his feet. “Ever since I was jus’ sparkling!” 

“Our misfortunes started after your creation.” 

“That’s not true!” Flashiwng countered taking a step forward. “I’ve seen our records…tribe started having trouble since Wheeljack escaped! Tha’ was many vorns before I came to be! You forget time of prosperity we had when we made tha’ deal with Quintessons! Though tha’ ultimately turned out to be mistake now didn’t it? If only because of the Chief Cliffwing’s madness! If anyone caused our final fall…it was him!” 

“Perhaps Cliffwing would not have gone mad if you hadn’t caused his bondmate’s death.” 

That felt like a shot into his spark. Baron Tigercloud had been a surrogate caretaker for him when Steelstone refused to continue doing so himself after Stormburst died. Tigercloud…he had been kind and understanding. He felt safe…and loved…by him. 

“You blame me for tha’…,” Flashwing stated, his voice cracking. “When he willingly gave his life to save me?” 

“He should have let canyon swallow you,” Steelstone countered coldly. “He and Stormburst were worth more to us than you ever will be. That you share Stormburst’s likeness is an _insult _to his memory!” 

Flashwing crushed his optics closed, swallowing the sob that threatened to croak out of his vocalizer. Why? Why was he blamed for everything? His life would be so much better if Tigercloud had survived…if _Stormburst_ had survived. If only…. 

…the Wreckers hadn’t come and caused the wound that ended up proving fatal. Perhaps…. 

“Perhaps…,” he began softly, clenching his fists so hard his talons drew energon. “Perhaps if we were not so _lenient _toward Wre’gers…we would not be in this state.” He took another step forward. “Always letting them live…always trying to subdue and capture instead of jus’ sending them to Pit where they belonged!” 

“Tha’ is not our way,” Steelstone reminded him flatly. “And they were once more lenient…but _you_ removed wha’ source of morality they had!” 

Ah yes…Ebonscream. Got him taken by the Quintessons along with the traitor Starsong. It should have been heralded as a major victory for the tribe, as Ebonscream was the Wrecker’s master tactician. However, his accomplishment was not appreciated by his kin: instead of being praised, he was punished for ‘overstepping’ his authority. 

“And how was I supposed to know his followers would hold his morals in such little regard after his demise?” Flashwing sneered. “My point still stands: our own leniency prevented us from defending ourselves properly. We may as well have jus’ laid down and let them slaughter us all from start!” 

There was a dismissive snort from the miner. “You speak foolishness,” Steelstone grumbled dismissively. “To think our future res’ in hands of incompetent one like you.” 

Flashwing growled. Yes, he made mistakes and underestimated his opponents, but he was _far_ from incompetent! “This whole tribe was incompetent,” he declared. “Stubbornly clinging to beliefs and ways tha’ are to our detriment!” Flashwing took a several steps forward: he was right next to Steelstone now. “It’s time for change!” 

Steelstone didn’t respond, only looked at him impassively. 

“And firs’ thing tha’ needs to be done….” Flashwing leapt at him, dagger flashing in the limited light before it plunged into the Steelstone’s chest. “Is to get rid of you!” 

There was no cry of surprise, nor scream of pain. Steelstone didn’t react at all. Flashwing blinked in confusion. Then recoiled in shock and horror as Steelstone’s head teetered, then fell off. He watched it in numb shock as it rolled onto Steelstone’s lap, then onto the floor at his feet. 

Flashwing stared at it, not certain what he had just seen. Steelstone had just been talking to him! When he looked back up at the rest of the body, he saw not a damaged yet alive bot, but a rusted and decayed corpse. 

He stepped back a few paces, needing a moment to process this. Then he started laughing. Out of relief? Joy? Perhaps insanity? He didn’t know. All he did know was that his biggest tormentor was confirmed dead. Gone. Likely sent to the Pit where he belonged! He was free. Free to do what he wanted! 

Once his fit of laughter had abated, he walked over and pulled the dagger out of the rusting husk that had once been Steelstone. He stared at it for a moment, a smirk playing on his face. 

“Seeing there is no one else…it looks like _I’m_ Chief now…eh, Steelstone?” he taunted, twirling the dagger in his hand. “You are likely screaming in despair, knowing it is up to _me_ to rebuild our tribe. Me…cursed one…_abomination_.” He spat that last word out like a curse. 

“And rebuild it I will…and do so _my_ way. You won’t be able to stop me…no one can….” He turned and started to walk out, only to pause when something critical dawned on him. “Wait…no…_they_ could. Wre’gers needed to be dwelt with first before I can properly rebuild.” 

There were already a couple of things in his favor in that regard. First was the on-going war. Second, his training in Spec Ops. He was quite certain he could find a way to use both to ‘trim’ the Wrecker numbers…. 

Flashwing grinned broadly, continued on his way out of the room, already coming up with a few ideas….


End file.
